No Borders
by zadrisala
Summary: A hungover Alistair meets a mysterious woman covered in darkspawn blood. Romance story. First story, so any reviews are highly appreciated!
1. Strange Meeting

The marketplace was bustling with life, as it usually was on a Sunday morning in Hightown, Kirkwall. Vendors, charming and smooth, called out to passersby with seducing talk of the finest jewels, armor, and weapons in the Free Marches, the juiciest meat and the freshest fruit for miles around. Noblemen sized each other up in conversation as their wives gossipped about their husbands and politics and other families while moving from stall to stall. Children wove in and out of the legs of the adults, sweet honeycakes dripping in their clutches, shrieking with pleasure and excitement of the foreign goods and mysterious people around them. Among the shouting and merrymaking folk of Kirkwall, it was a wonder that any vendor could hear his customers' inquiries, let alone close a deal. The sun flooded the square, warm for a late September day, and the nobles fanned themselves as they rested in the shade, watching their children and catching up on small talk with other families.

Through the throngs of people in the square, no one seemed to notice a small, dark, hooded figure making its way to the reagents and herb stocker. The figure stopped in front of the stall, examining the dried hanging goods closely, and reached out to finger a strip of leather hanging for display. The herbalist took note of this and stood up from his stool, speaking sharply.

"Oy, now, don't you go touchin' me goods with thievin' hands, there." The lanky man said gruffly through his large orange moustache, wiping his hands on his apron, stained green from handling herbs. His eyes seemed to soften slightly when the cloaked figure dropped their hands immediately, opening their fingers to show him that they hadn't taken anything.

"If you're looking to buy, then, well, that's another matter, then, innit?" He said cheerfully. He wasn't phased by the strange person, as he had plenty of foreigners visit his stall in the market before. He did admit to himself, though, that this one looked… out of place, even on market day. The foreigners who came to the market were usually nobles in their own lands, showing off their wealth with gems on their necks and fingers, expensive fabrics draped around their shoulders, and talked in loud voices, though that never really helped the vendors understand them through their thick accents. This fellow, however, was dressed in a thick but rather worn looking dark cloak, with a large hood obscuring their face. The herbalist's customer didn't reply, but hunched over his table of goods, looking carefully.

After a minute of silence, the herbalist cleared his throat and said tentatively, "Er, if there was somethin' you were lookin' for…" he trailed off, not sure how to address the mysterious person. The cloaked person looked up suddenly, as though noticing him for the first time again, and the vendor almost jumped at the movement. He met a pair of large, deep orange eyes peering at him through a scarf covering the face, and a soft, but clear voice came from the stranger.

"I'm looking to trade a bag of deep mushroom for a few sprigs of deathroot," The voice was smooth and low, but the herbalist was surprised to recognize a woman's voice. "...ser." She added, and he could tell by her eyes that she was smiling kindly at him.

"Oh, I-" the herbalist regained his composure and nodded knowingly. "Ay, of course, serah, of course! I have just a few bundles left of deathroot, I do…" He rummaged through the basket next to his stool and brought out a small bag, opening it and showing its contents to his customer, who seemed satisfied with what she saw. "That's potent stuff, that is…" but his warning was cut off by his delight at the mushrooms she had laid on the table for exchange.

"Maker-" he breathed, "Maker, that's some good stock, that! Looks like it's been picked yesterday!"

"Is it enough?" The smooth voice asked.

The herbalist was very happy with the product, and nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt for not offering more deathroot, of which he in fact had a few more stalks left. He ignored the feeling and turned to put aside the fresh mushrooms, but when he turned back to thank the serah for her business, she had already gone, taking the bag of deathroot with her.

Down at the docks, the deckhands were loading up a ship to Ferelden when they heard a smooth, clear voice behind them.

"Room for one?"

A small, cloaked figure with two orange eyes looking out of the hood greeted them with the clink of coin. A few more were enough to get a letter to be taken on another southbound ship and the stranger boarded the Ferelden ship. She removed her hood, but kept her head scarf wrapped tightly around her as she sat herself down in the corner of the deck where she wouldn't get in any sailor's way, and stretched out her arm. A small, brown hawk landed gracefully on her forearm, and clicked its beak at her. She stroked his small head, ruffled the feather gently behind his neck, and set him in her lap where he sat still, nibbling contentedly at a strip of meat she handed him. Soon, the ship pulled from the port of Kirkwall and was making its way into the bay, headed for Ferelden.

"Come on, Alistair, it's your turn now!" roared a gleeful group of Grey Warden men, laughing and slapping a young man on the back. The man, much younger than any of the rest, held his hands up in protest, but grinned widely and laughed with them. A large tankard overflowing with ale was being pushed on the table towards him, next to a collection of identical large tankards, all filled to the brim, ready to be consumed irresponsibly. Across the small wooden table sat a large, smug looking Grey Warden, who was wiping his beard and throwing a drained cup down on the table next to him. A few Grey Wardens were dragging away an unconscious fellow Warden who had previously been sitting where Alistair was now being forced to take place, although, Alistair thought, it seemed they were doing their best not to trip over the poor drunk from their own tipsy laughter. He looked at the large man in front of him, wondering how he got to the position he was in.

The large Warden leaned on his elbow and grabbed another tankard.

"You alright, sonny? Nice knowin' ya." He grinned mischievously at Alistair, who, grinning back but now slightly dreading his decision, took up the tankard in front of him and raised it to his lips.

When Alistair awoke late morning, he was greeted by blinding sunlight and a head splitting pain through the front of his eyes and somewhere behind his ears. He groaned and tried to sit up, but nearly vomited in the process and leaned on the bench to hold himself up.

 _Of course I'm right in the one patch of sun in the tavern,_ he grumbled.

When he could lift his head again, he looked around at the tavern. His fellow Grey Wardens were strewn everywhere- on the floor, on the benches and tables of the room. If it weren't for the audible snores and empty beer mugs everywhere, it would've looked like a massacre had taken place through the night. He slowly inched his way to the door, trying not to step on anyone else and groaning the entire way from his headache. On his way out, he grabbed a hunk of bread from an unconscious Warden's clutch, and he stepped out the cool morning mist, the sun light stinging his eyes and forcing him to cover his face with his hands for a few minutes. The young, hungover Warden made his way down to the river bank to drink and splash water on his face and head, where he collapsed and tore off a piece of bread, grudgingly shoving it into his mouth, wincing as he chewed. He finished the bread and started drinking the cold spring water, thanking the Maker for such a refreshing substance.

As he washed his hands and face in the river, he suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and he looked up, eyes straining to see any signs of movement in the forest across the river.

Alistair stood up, slowly, and reached for his sword beside him on the grass. He didn't think he could sense any darkspawn, but his headache was getting in his way. The bushes rustled again in the trees, and he gripped his sword tightly. He thought he could hear something stumbling towards him, and he steeled his heart and stepped over the small stream, getting ready to swing.

A small, cloaked figure practically fell out of the trees, tripping in the grass and falling towards Alistair. Before he had time to respond, it suddenly pulled away from him with a grunt, and just when he thought he saw a flash of orange, he felt a sharp pain in his left forearm. He yelled and took a step back, tightening his grip with his right hand and swinging at the figure. Whether the cloaked being ducked or just happened to fall, Alistair didn't know. It knelt down on one knee and drew a long dagger from underneath the cloak, and he took another step back, preparing for a lunge.

Just then, the hood slipped off the creature's head and Alistair found himself looking at a small framed, dark woman with beige facial tattoos, with her long black tresses falling around her shoulders from the hood. Her bright orange eyes were watching him, hard, and everything about her body language was defensive- but she did not attack him immediately. The unexpected pause gave Alistair a chance to take in the woman, and he suddenly noticed she was wincing through her glare. A scratch on her cheek was still fresh, and her hands that gripped the long daggers were coated in - the smell he could recognize anywhere- Darkspawn blood. She was breathing heavily and roughly, and, without breaking her gaze, she coughed weakly. Blood spattered the grass from her mouth, and the effort made her sink to her other knee as well.

"Hey-" Alistair lowered his sword and took a step forward. "You're hurt-" But the young woman held herself up by one dagger, sunk into the grass, and pointed the other at him, warning him not to touch her.

"Don't…" She said, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. But her blade wavered, and she winced. Her body finally gave in, and her eyes rolled, and she collapsed to the ground.

Alistair breathed out, not moving just yet. He lowered his sword and looked out into the forest, wary of any darkspawn. Not sensing any, he sheathed his weapon and went towards the woman. As he bent down to lift her, he heard a screech from above him, and suddenly he was being attacked by a flurry of angry, beating wings, screeching, and sharp talons. He cried out and swatted around him, agitating the small bird even more. The Warden swore and ducked his head, and lifting the injured woman from the ground, ran back to the inn, shouting for the other Wardens and yelling in pain as the angry hawk tore at any visible skin through his armor and at his hair.

A tall, dark haired and bearded Warden came quickly out of his chambers and came to Alistair's aide. He held his hand up at the furious little hawk and shouted at it, guiding Alistair and the woman inside an empty room and slamming the door. They could hear the hawk screeching and attacking the door, but they ignored it and went to lay the unconscious woman on the bed in the room. Alistair quickly told his helper what had happened, and the older man's brow grew even more serious from his calm face.

"Duncan-" Alistair started again, but the Warden had already started to throw back the cloak from the woman and examine what wounds he could find. Alistair laid the two daggers he had grabbed from the woman on the wood table next to the bed, and suddenly felt a searing pain in his forearm again. He almost dropped the dagger in pain, and involuntarily yelped. Duncan looked up sharply at him and took his arm, examining it closely.

"Poison darts," he said softly, and instructed Alistair to remove his armor, which he did gingerly.

The dark had been expertly aimed at the slim opening in his armor where he buckled his arm guards, and had been broken off save the tip, which was lodged into his skin. Duncan carefully squeezed out the shard and wrapped a piece of rope around Alistair's upper arm, tying it uncomfortably tight. He moved swiftly about the room, filling a bowl with hot water from the pot hanging in the fireplace, rags, and after he had set the hot, wet rags on Alistair's arm, began rummaging through the young woman's pouches, hung tightly on her hips. He pulled out a small glass vial, filled with a deep blue, almost black liquid, and strode back over to the younger warden, who was starting to feel short of breath and light headed. He filled a mug with hot water and dripped a few drops of the dark liquid into it, and helped Alistair drink. Alistair could barely gulp it down, partly due to the awful bitterness of the drink and his body slowly shutting down. He breathed hard for a few more moments, Duncan watching his carefully, and slowly felt his breath coming easier, face growing cooler, and the pain in his arm subsiding. He looked in amazement and confusion at Duncan, who wiped away the sweat that had formed on Alistair's brow with a dry rag.

"The darts this woman used were coated in deathroot poison," he explained, turning to place the glass vial carefully next to the two daggers. "She carried the antidote on her, thankfully. It's a powerful and quick working poison, and having the antidote could be a strong bargaining point for information, if she needed it from her victims. You may feel a little drowsy, a side affect from the antidote. Sit down." Duncan was now carefully removing the woman's layers of clothing in order to treat her wounds, and chuckled mildly. "It never amazes me how well equipped assassins are, and with so little weight," he said, removing her leather boots and belt. He held up the boot to Alistair, who looked at him in bewilderment, and carefully slid out a blade that extended out from the tip of the shoe.

Alistair whistled. "Kick them while they're down, huh?" he admired. "So you think she's an assassin?"

"Or a very careful traveller, trained to fight from her early life," the Warden responded, folding the scarf and cloak, putting them neatly on the floor beside the bed, and reaching for the bucket of hot water and rags, which Alistair handed to him. He cleaned the woman's wounds; most weren't desperate, but a nasty gash from a Darkspawn blade on her ribs warranted further attention, special herbs, and bandaging. Alistair helped him create salves, using ingredients that the woman had been carrying in her few leather pouches, and the inn-keeper's wife, Stelle, came in to reclothe her in a clean night shirt while they cleared their handiwork and washed the rags outside. The hawk from earlier was eyeing them beadily from from a nearby tree. They walked back inside, where Stelle was tucking the unconscious woman into the cot.

"The poor dear," she sighed. She was an older woman of about 60, with a kind, round face, and treated all the Warden's like her own sons when they stayed. She was looking at the young woman in the bed now with the expression she would give while watching her tired granddaughter. "The wilder parts of Ferelden are really getting so dangerous lately… and she looks like she hasn't had a proper meal in days. Should I prepare something, Duncan, do you think she'll wake up?"

Duncan gave a small smile at the kind woman. "I think," he said, thinking, "She may wake up this evening, after some good rest. The blade she was attacked by did not seem to have any poison coating, thank Andraste. A nice stew would do her a lot of good when she does wake up, Stelle. Thank you."

"I'll make a large pot, then. Your boys will be needing some soon, too, I imagine, after the state of last night. If they expect me to clean the tavern up after them…" She wagged a finger disapprovingly at Duncan, who chuckled and raised a hand.

"I'll make sure you don't have to wash a single mug tonight, serah," he promised.

Stelle clicked her tongue as though annoyed, but was smiling, happy to be of help, and gave one more sympathetic and worried look at the woman before bustling off to the main house and kitchens.

Duncan stood up from his stool where he was sitting and refilled the mug with hot water, which he handed to Alistair.

"You stay here," he said, "Keep an eye on that arm, and call for Stelle if she should wake," he gestured towards the stranger in the bed. "I doubt she will, at least for a few hours more, but if she does then I wouldn't be surprised if she tries to fight her way out of here. I'm going to go check on the forest where you found her for any signs of darkspawn with a few more men.. provided I can find a couple more who are not so hungover they cannot move." He sighed, though Alistair saw he was smirking slightly, and left the room.

Alistair sipped the hot water as he called, "Yesser, yesser, ser yes ser…" after Duncan, and sat down on the wooden chair. He sat at the table, looking at all of the woman's belongings. _Duncan was right_ , he thought. _If she hadn't been injured, I'm not sure I could've survived a fight with her… especially with a hangover._ He picked up the little glass vial of dark blue liquid and examined it. It was almost black, but shone blue in the sunlight. He picked up a blade and studied it as well. It was sleek and curved slightly, coated in a dark grey blue sheen- poison. _Probably the same nasty stuff at the darts_ , he thought, and didn't touch the blade. The hilt was interesting. It was dirty from travel, but he rubbed off some of the grime and the gold end glinted brightly. There was a crest on the gold, with from dried blood wedged between the raises. The rest of the hilt was wrapped in black leather, and was nicely worn from use. Alistair put down the blade and sat back in his chair.

His gaze went to the woman in the bed. He hadn't really gotten a good look at her yet, as he had been busy with tending to her wounds. He was surprised to see that she was really quite beautiful. He had been slightly terrified of her bright orange eyes boring into him when he faced her at the stream, but now her face was relaxed, and she looked peaceful as she slept. Her beige tattoos contrasted with her dark brown skin and they dotted and danced over her cheekbones and chin. Dried blood flecked some strands of her long, thick black hair, and it was fanned out around her, hanging off the pillow like a waterfall. Stelle was right, despite her beauty her face looked slightly gaunt, as though she hadn't eaten more than berries and roots for a long while. She wasn't frail, however. Her expertise in fighting had toned her arms and legs into strong, capable, muscular tools.

There was a tapping at the window, and Alistair tore his gaze away from the woman and looked up. The small hawk was on the window sill, glaring at him. Alistair got up and opened the window, letting in the suspicious bird.

"See, look, she's fine! I didn't kill her, though she nearly killed me. No need to ruffle your feathers, you small demon," he said, holding out his hand, which he hawk promptly nipped, hard. Alistair swore and swat at it lightly. It hopped down from the window onto the bed and went over to look at its mistress. Seemingly satisfied that she was not, in fact, dead, he gave a little squawk and flew out of the window, perching upon the tree for surveillance once more.

Alistair chuckled as he shook his bitten hand, still cursing the hawk. He sat down at the table once more and, though he did not realize it, gazed at the woman again until he fell asleep, lulled by his still groggy mind and exhaustion from the morning.


	2. Zalandri

Alistair woke with a start at a noise in the room. He grunted and his eyes reluctantly flickered open. The room was filled with a hazy golden light of sunset, and he rubbed his eyes to get used to it.

Stelle was moving about the room, gathering discarded dishes and rags. She had placed a tray of two generous bowls of stew and hunks of bread, with pitchers of wine and water on the table, next to all of the stranger's weapons.

 _The stranger_. Alistair turned to look at the bed. The woman was still there, sleeping soundly, undisturbed by Stelle's busying.

"Ah, good, child, you're awake now. Slept the good afternoon away, you did!" Stelle said chirpily, putting away new clean, folded rags on the shelf.

Alistair's mouth watered at the smell of Stelle's hearty stew. In all of Ferelden, she made the best stew he had ever had. It was never overcooked, grey and lumpy like other taverns, but well seasoned, and one could actually distinguish the different ingredients in the soup.

"Stelle, you are a gift from Andraste herself," Alistair stretched and reached for the bowl, wolfing it down hungrily. Stelle seemed pleased with this compliment, and smiled to herself smugly. Alistair finished the stew with lightening speed and grabbed the bread and water together.

"You're going to make yourself sick all over again if you eat like that!" Stelle warned. At that moment, the stranger on the bed stirred, and Alistair and Stelle stopped what they were doing and watched her.

The woman's eyes flickered heavily open, and she stared up at the ceiling above her, still in a daze. After a minute, her eyes wandered about the room and fell on an unfamiliar but kind looking round woman, smiling in relief, and at a young, light haired man in armor, a piece of bread sticking out of his mouth as he gaped at her.

Her senses returned to her suddenly, and she threw back the covers and picked up the first weapon she could reach - a poker for the fire place. The young man in armor rapidly stood to his feet, grabbing his sword, and stretched an arm out in front of the older woman to protect her. The woman squeaked in surprise and took a step back.

"Steady, easy-" The man started, but she did not let him finish.

"Who are you?" she demanded, holding the poker in front of her as she surveyed the room quickly. It was small, just a bed, table, fireplace, and the door, but the door was blocked by the strangers in front of her. Her belongings and weapons were on the table, neatly laid out, next to a tray of food and drink. She felt slightly dizzy.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but the woman pushed past his arm and cautiously but quickly moved toward her.

"You should sit down, dear, or your wounds will open again. How about we all just calm down, now, and talk. We're not here to hurt you, dear, don't worry. Alistair here found you hurt by the forest and brought you in. Now come let's sit down, there we go…" the stranger allowed the woman to help her sit down again, but held tightly onto the poker.

"Now," the kind woman continued, "I am Stelle, the innkeeper of this place. Why don't you have some soup, dear, you'll feel much better… good, now, this is Alistair, he brought you in…" Stelle handed the bowl of stew to the young woman, who took it suspiciously. Alistair sat down on the chair again, propping his sword against the table, and finished eating his bread with a nod.

"You were covered in Darkspawn blood," he said through chewing. "You fell out of the forest by the river and fell unconscious. Not before you managed to poison me, though." He looks amused.

"Do you have a name, dear?" Stelle asked, smiling warmly.

The young woman raised a spoonful of broth and sniffed it suspiciously, before taking a sip. As though it had awakened some carnal hunger in her, she began eating rapidly, slurping and chewing, and took the piece of bread Stelle offered her appreciatively. She was soon done, but saved a few slivers of meat at the bottom of her bowl. She took a long drought of water from the pitcher and finally wiped her mouth and breathed contentedly.

Stelle smiled at her in amusement and took the bowl and pitcher to the table. "Feeling better?"

The young woman nodded and took a deep breath.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was smooth and slightly deep, and even though it was a little raspy from sleeping so long, it was pleasant.

"Forgive me, and my actions," she continued, bowing her head slightly to Stelle and Alistair, "I have met only few in my travels that have treated a stranger with this much hospitality, and I was sure of death the last I can remember."

"Ah, yes, Fereldens aren't too hospitable at the moment, with the Blight approaching and all. Better things to think about, really," Alistair said cheerfully, and smiled at the young woman. Her long hair was falling around her, and her bright orange eyes seemed to glow out from behind the strands falling in front of her face. She watched him steadily, as though thinking over trusting him with more information. She really was quite beautiful, and the life was returning to her face after her meal.

"You're in the Outskirts Inn," he told her, feeling as though he should offer more information, "just north of Denerim. Where did you come from?"

She hesitated, then answered the question. "I am Zalandri," she said, slowly. "I am not from there, but I came to Ferelden through the Free Marches; from Kirkwall. I believe about a week ago, unless I have been sleeping for several days. I've been travelling through the lands, mapping the regions and studying the plant and animal life."

"Yes, I flipped through your notes," Alistair told her, gesturing to the tattered, hand bound journal on the table. "Sorry," he quickly added, sheepishly. "You forgot to add notes of all the food equivalent to sewage here, besides Serah Stelle's of course," he joked, beaming at Stelle who rolled her eyes.

Zalandri gave a light, musical laugh and smiled at Alistair, whose breath involuntarily caught in his throat. _Maker's breath-_

"Why don't we get you cleaned up and changed, child," Stelle helped Zalandri to her feet. "I've washed your clothes and hung them up to dry, and we'll find something suitable for you to wear in the meantime. Tell Duncan that I've taken her to the main house," she instructed Alistair, who nodded, standing up. "He's the one who tended to your wounds," she added to Zalandri.

"Thank you, serah," Zalandri said, bowing her head to Stelle. "And you as well, ser." She nodded at Alistair.

"No problem, no problem. Your little hawk friend has been waiting for you to wake all day," he told her. "Want to meet him?"

"I will, after getting sorted," she said, then pointed to the bowl on the table. "If you could give him those meats, he will warm to you." She smiled at the scratches on Alistair's arms, guessing correctly that Feren and inflicted them while he had tried to help her.

Alistair watched her leave with Stelle and went out into the dusk with the handful of meat. The little hawk was staring at him from the trees, and Alistair held his hand high.

"Come on, you little blighter," he called, "some snacks from your mistress!"

The hawk swooped down to perch on his arm, and Alistair handed him the strips of meat, being careful to avoid his fingers getting beaked. He noticed the hawk had a small scar on his leg that he used to clutch the meat with. When he was finished, the bird clicked his beak and looked at expectantly at Alistair, who laughed.

"No, that's all I have for you," he grinned, "You really are quick to warm up when there's food involved, aren't you? Go on now, she'll be with you soon." He released the bird back into the air, where it soared far above, circling steadily.

He went into the tavern, which was already lively and bustling with other Wardens, and soon found Duncan, who was sitting with a group of tired looking Wardens, all eating a portion of Stelle's hearty stew. He sat down across from the older man and greeted the others.

"She's awake. Stelle took her to get cleaned and dressed," Alistair grabbed a piece of bread and began to eat.

Duncan nodded over his bowl. "Good," he said, "Have you learned anything?"

Alistair shrugged. "She might be lying," he said, dipping the piece of bread into the broth of his neighbor's bowl despite an indignant grunt from its owner. "But she says she's a traveller, and she's come to Ferelden through the Free Marches, though she's not from there. Her name is Zalandri. She's studying the plants and animal life of regions she visits, which explains all the herbs we found on her."

Duncan raised his head, interested. "Zalandri?" he repeated. He looked thoughtful. "Hmm…" He noticed Alistair looking at him, waiting for an explanation. He hesitated, but continued.

"I have heard strange rumors lately, coming from the west, from Anderfels." He continued, slowly. "There was a time long ago when the ports of Anderfels could be seen with merchant ships arriving from across the Volcai sea, from unknown lands. Anderfels traders named them "Voshai". They were different from the people of Thedas. Human, but almost elf-like in their slim frames. They decorated their dark skin with lighter markings on their faces, and were described in one record with "bright eyes, as if there were a light shining from within". The merchants from the west were very interested in lyrium, and traded for a while, but stopped arriving. The goods they traded were highly valuable things; gold, beautiful weapons and armor - the blades they brought with them were said to be of the highest quality, always sharp, durable, but lightweight, and the wielders matched by none in speed and agility. Many expeditions set out from Anderfels to find the merchants' homeland, but it was never found. The expeditions were all forced to give up because of the heavy fog they encountered, and the waters were treacherous without vision. There are still records of trade with these people, however, and their names are very different from our own, as well. The name the traveller gave you reminds me of the names from the records… and her appearance…" Duncan trailed off, looking at his soup thoughtfully.

"You think she may be one of the Voshai?" Alistair asked, excitedly. He loved old lore and legends, and this was one he had never heard before.

"I am not certain," Duncan warned, "But I have heard rumors of ships arriving again at Anderfels, though the news is often dark and suspicious. Little is known of the lands they come from, but from early traders' gossip, the lands seemed not to have ever known a Blight as Thedas has."

"Never seen a Blight?" Alistair repeated. "How-"

"I do not know," Duncan finished his soup and stood. "If she will let me, I would like to talk to this Zalandri and learn more of where she came. Let us visit the main house to see if she is ready."

They walked up to the main house and were let inside by Stelle's husband, who grunted his greeting and went back to the fireplace with the mabari hound. They made their way upstairs to the guest chamber, and Duncan knocked before entering at Stelle's voice from within. Stelle was wringing out a towel through the window, and Zalandri stood in the middle of the room, inspecting her new clothing that Stelle had given her. She was dressed in a warm, wool shirt and slim trousers, and was standing barefoot next to a pair of felt slippers. Her hair was still damp from her bath, but she was no longer covered in blood, and seemed refreshed. She was small framed, though very fit, and only came up just above Alistair's shoulders. The little hawk sat perched outside the window.

Zalandri's orange eyes met Alistair's, who smiled back in surprise. _They really are like lights_ he thought. Zalandri gave him a small smile and turned to Duncan.

"I assume you are Ser Duncan, who tended to my wounds," she said, voice like a smooth stream. Duncan bowed to her, and gave her a smile.

"Yes," he said, coming forward and looking her up and down. "It is good to see you well. The Darkspawn blades were not coated in poison as they so often are, thank Andraste."

"Darkspawn," said Zalandri, nodding. "I had heard tales of the beasts in my travels through Thedas, but that was my first time fighting them. I was ambushed by a horde, which i fought off, but unfortunately not without injury. I would have died if it weren't for you," she said, turning to Alistair with a sincere expression on her face. "Thank you." Alistair bowed and smiled. "And, I'm very sorry about your arm," she added, wincing slightly and smiling apologetically. "It was an automatic response. I'm glad you were able to find the antidote among my things in time."

Alistair laughed and shook his head, dismissing the fact. "I'm not surprised, I probably would have done the same thing."

She smiled at him again, and Duncan interjected.

"If I may," he said, and she turned to look at him. "I would like to ask a few things; the nature of your travels for instance. These are unstable times in Thedas, especially in Ferelden, and I would like to know a bit more about you. We can never have too much information about a stranger in these lands, you understand…"

"Of course," Zalandri nodded and sat down on the bed. "Stelle has told me about you, about the Grey Wardens and the Blight. These are foreign to me, as I come from a land where we have had no incident with a Blight, at least for many ages, long out of memory. I am Zalandri Jémes. I am from a land my people call Narukk, west of Anderfels, across the Volca sea." She smiled slightly in amusement here. "I believe your people of Anderfels call us Voshai. We have not traded with Thedas for many generations, as we have been… preoccupied." The way she said the last word made it clear she did not want to talk deeper on the subject. Duncan moved along.

"I know only a little of your people. Your lands are a mystery to us. Alistair told me that you are travelling to learn more on the wildlands of Thedas."

Zalandri confirmed this with another nod. "Yes, I am. I left Narukk amidst the political strife in order to travel and see the outside world. I am not as… invested as the rest of my family is in politics." She laughed lightly. "I prefer the company of animals and good people than squabbling nobles."

"Who doesn't?" Alistair put in, laughing. He was feeling relieved that Zalandri did not seem too suspicious a character, and he was excited to know more about Narukk, a land he did not know existed.

"Stelle tells me you are headed south, to Ostagar." Zalandri looked at Duncan, who nodded. "If I may, I would like to join you on your journey there. I was headed south as well, and would like to know more of this Blight that is plaguing your lands. I do not need protection. I can fight, and if I become a burden in anyway I will not be offended if you leave me behind."

Duncan looked thoughtfully at the young woman. After a minute he nodded, and said "That can be arranged. I would also like to know more about your travels and knowledge. We are leaving tomorrow morning, at dawn. Alistair can show you back to your things so you may pack, and I suggest you get a good night's sleep. Your body should be exhausted still after your wounds."

Duncan stood, bowed to Zalandri, who did the same, thanked Stelle for her help and bade her good night, nodded at Alistair, and left. Zalandri thanked Stelle profusely for her help and followed Alistair out of the house toward the room she had woken up in. They made small talk, formally introducing themselves again and Zalandri asked about his arm, which Alistair shrugged off with a joke. Zalandri was glad to find all of her things in order, besides one missing poison dart, which she decided she could make another time.

Alistair insisted that she could stay in the room, as he could find another cot to sleep in, and told her he would come for her at dawn.

"Well, that's that. Have a good night, serah, and I will see you in the morning!" he said, cheerfully.

"Zalandri." She smiled at him, and sat down on the bed. "Please, call me Zalandri. Or Zala, if you'd like."

"Ah, yes, of course." He nodded. "Zala. Or Zal? No, I suppose that sounds too much like Al, doesn't it? It would be odd if we had the same name…"

"Mm, yes, I think Al and Zala would sound better than Al and Zal," Zalandri teased with an amused grin. "But if I were to call for you, I would use Alistair. I think it sounds a bit fuller.. and it wouldn't ruin the mood." Her eyes flashed playfully, and Alistair found himself at a loss for words.

"Ah, er, I-I suppose…" He stammered. Zalandri laughed again.

"You may call me whatever you desire." She said, and stood up to bow to him. "Good night, Alistair."

Alistair composed himself and bowed back, somewhat awkwardly grinning. "Good night, Zala."

He left to find an empty room, and Zalandri readied her things for the morning and fell asleep, the pain in her ribs subsiding slowly through the night.


	3. New Recruit

The Wardens set up camp once more and built a fire. They had been travelling steady for about a few days, and had made good distance to Ostagar from Denerim. They estimated another day or two's journey would get them there. So far, the trip had been manageable, with only a couple run ins with Darkspawn hordes.

Zalandri was well liked already among the Wardens, and had proven herself during their first meeting with a horde of Darkspawn. Like the legends Duncan had heard of the Voshai, she was extremely fast and agile, whipping around to aide the Wardens in the fight. Her use of her two blades was formidable, and more than once they had seen her take a Darkspawn head clean off its shoulders with ease before moving onto the next. Her knowledge in herbalism and poisons was useful, and she could tend to wounds and mix antidotes faster than even Duncan, who was well known for being almost as excellent a healer as he was a warrior. Feren the hawk flew high above them on their journey, signaling with a screech to Zalandri if there was danger ahead.

Off the battlefield, she stayed close to Alistair when she wasn't talking to Duncan about the Blight or about her own finds through the west. They had become quite friendly, as she enjoyed all of his little jokes and he genuinely appreciated her company. She wasn't afraid to tease him back, and she found his innocence on certain social matters endearing, and would often push him enough to grant a faint blush on his ears. She had accompanied him on his nights for guard watch, and joined him again tonight as he stood at the edge of camp, looking for any sign of movement.

She appeared at his side, tossing her long, black hair over one shoulder as she buckled her leather vest secure. Alistair watched, fascinated, and she quickly braided her hair and tied it up, piling it into a bun high on her head. She caught him staring at her and she smiled at him, making him straighten up and look straight ahead again. She repressed a smile to herself. She often caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking; attention she had in the past rejected from men, but it didn't bother her with him. She liked the young Warden's company, and she thought he was fairly handsome as well. He was different from the other men, who weren't afraid to flirt with her openly and loudly, advances she always teasingly but firmly rejected.

She looked out into the night with him, silently, and then they began their walk around the perimeter of the camp. They walked in a comfortable silence for a while, side by side, stopping occasionally so she could pick a sprig off of an herb plant and stash it in her hip pocket. It was a dark night, but the moon shone bright, and a roughly cut, tear shaped green gem gleamed as it swung from Zalandri's ear.

As they made their way to the east side of camp, Alistair suddenly stopped to listen, holding his arm out in front of Zalandri. She watched him as she reached for her blade, listening too as hard as she could. Her eyes seemed to glow, and she scanned the dark shadows of the trees for any movement. Her night vision was better than anyone's in the Wardens, a mystery to Duncan. Generations of living in a darker, foggy land had developed the Voshai's eyesight to accommodate their surroundings, but Zalandri did not speak of her homeland in detail.

She caught sight of a dark figure in the trees, and signalling Alistair to follow her, she crept toward it. She slipped into the shadow of the trees and sped up, winding silently past the figure to the back, and attacked, striking its head and gut in swift movements with the hilts of her daggers, and swept the feet from out under it, pointing her blade at its neck when it hit the ground.

Alistair caught up, sword drawn and ready for attack, and the cloud parted to allow the moon to illuminate the scene. He clicked his tongue and looked at Zalandri in fake annoyance, though he could not mask his admiration.

"You always get the good bit for yourself, don't you?"

She flashed him a sly smile and a wink, and turned to the panting man beneath her blade on the ground with a serious face.

"A scout," she said, looking him up and down. "For a group of bandits, I suspect? Where is your camp?"

The bandit scout said nothing, but glowered and spit at her, which she dodged with a bored look on her face.

"Don't need it anyway," she muttered, and gave him a nick on his shoulder. He winced and grunted in surprise, but was utterly confused when she withdrew her blade from his neck.

"That's all I need to do," she explained to him, and his eyes grew wide as the effects of the poison began to take place. "Why make a mess if you don't have to?" she said to Alistair, who chuckled and followed her as she stepped over the scout and held out her arm.

Feren landed on her wrist and she said something to him in a language Alistair did not understand. The hawk took off once more, and Zalandri watched as he circled once, screeched, and took off in one direction.

"That way," she interpreted for Alistair, and they followed the direction Ferene flew, weapons drawn.

They came across a bandit camp, where a group of them were arguing by the fire. Zalandri and Alistair stepped into the light, and the bandits turned to them.

"Oy, Reynold, where've you been-" the large bandit wielding a bow and arrow stopped and looked at the two strangers. Then he laughed. "Hey, now gents, we seem to have some company!"

He ran back and began drawing his arrow, but Zalandri was quick to step up to him, and with a quick turn of her heel she was behind him. Before the archer knew what was happening, she sunk her blades into his back and stepped calmly over his body when it hit the ground.

The rest of the bandits roared in anger and began to make for her, but before they could reach her, Alistair had charge right through them with his longsword at the ready, severely injuring many and pushing the rest back. He commanded the attention of the bandits as Zalandri snuck around them, delivering fatal blows while they were distracted by the Warden. Soon, Alistair and Zalandri were the only ones standing. They breathed heavily, and she looked around the camp, searching for any valuables.

"Good job," she said to Alistair, as she looked around. She turned to him, and her heart jumped so that her body almost followed. He was standing right in front of her, only a few inches away.

He half stepped back and raised his hands, seeing that he had shocked her. "Sorry!" he cried, "Sorry, I just- you have, on your face…" He awkwardly stepped forward again and wiped some blood off of her cheek. "Sorry.." he muttered again, but he didn't sound like he heard himself saying it.

Zalandri stood still and allowed him to touch her. She laughed lightly, which seemed to relieve him, and reached up to wipe some blood off of his face as well. "You too," she said, meeting his eyes. Alistair's ears turned slightly pinker in the fire light, and she chuckled to herself.

 _Honestly, this man…_

His lips were parted slightly, and he let his hand linger on her cheek before forcing himself to look away and pull back. He cleared his throat, and Zalandri watched, amused, and he forced himself to look around the camp.

"Um, right, well. Wow. Look. A bandit camp! Who'da known, hm?" He walked over to the bags and carts on the side and started looking through them. Zalandri joined him, and they took whatever provisions they could find useful: Food, water, coin. They made their way back to the camp, Alistair musing about how they were acting like bandits. They left the provisions with the carts and went back to patrolling the perimeter.

Zalandri stopped to inspect a plant that had a strange moss sticking to the leaves. She pulled out her little knife she kept in her breast pocket and cut off a branch, placing it carefully into a bag and into her pouch. Her hands were steady and eyes focused, and Alistair couldn't stop staring. He forgot about listening and watching around them, and was fixated on watching her move. Her tattoos seemed to glow in the moonlight, and he couldn't help but marvel at how beautiful she was. _And strong… and…_ He looked away as she stood up to turn to him.

"Do you stare at everyone like that?"

Alistair almost choked. "What-" he looked at her. Zalandri was giving him a mischievous smile and she laughed at his surprise. "No, I wasn't-" But she was already walking ahead, still chuckling.

He ran to catch up with her. "I wasn't staring," he lied. "I was just wondering what you were doing."

She smiled at him, eyes teasing, and explained to him the healing properties of the moss that she had collected. "But, anyway," she finished, "we're back now. Let's get Faelan to switch guard duty with us." The glow of the camp fire was visible ahead, and she took Alistair's hand - Alistair caught his breath - as if to lead him to it, but let him slide through her fingers quickly. They walked the rest of the way back to camp in silence, and Zalandri told him good night and went into her tent, while Alistair sat at the fire, unable to sleep. After long, unending thoughts about her, he went to his tent and into a restless dream of the Archdemon and shrieking Darkspawn.

He awoke in a cold sweat to someone shaking him.

"Alistair. Alistair." A soft, calming voice was waking him up, a hand gently shaking him, the other wiping the sweat soothingly off his brow. Alistair's focus came back, and Zalandri was bent over above him, calling his name softly. It was still dark outside, but a dim light was beginning to pale the sky. Zalandri's hair fell around her face, onto his chest. She looked concerned.

Alistair struggled to sit up, coughing. His shirt was damp from sweat, and he felt groggy, as he always did after having nightmares. He held his face in his hands for a minute and felt a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it. He looked up. Zalandri was still there, rubbing his shoulder and looking slightly alarmed.

"You were having a nightmare," she said, voice low as to not wake others in camp. "I went out with Feren to hunt, and when I came back I could hear you, moaning and thrashing about… Are you okay?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes," he managed to croak, his tongue thick and heavy. "It was just a nightmare, I- We get them often, as Grey Wardens. Of the Archdemon, he…" He shuddered. Zalandri looked understanding.

"Yes, Duncan mentioned it to me. I didn't know whether to wake you, but I felt I couldn't just leave you like you were… hold on, wait here." She stood up and slipped out of the tent. Alistair didn't feel like going anywhere anyway, and sat, waiting for her return.

She came back inside a few minutes later, holding a bowl of steaming liquid. It smelled like honey and mint, but had a deepness to it that he could not explain. She handed it to him carefully, not trusting his hands to hold it up.

"Here," she said, "drink. You'll feel better." He did as he was told, and drank from the bowl. He was pleasantly surprised to taste a thick, broth like sweet soup, floral in taste but very subtle. He instantly felt warm from the inside, and his mind and sinuses felt clear. He felt a damp rag on his brow. Zalandri was wiping his face gently.

"Thank you," he whispered. She smiled at him in response, and he suddenly felt the urge to pull her into him, to hold her close. He resisted this, and she stood up and went to wring out the rag outside. When she came back in, she sat in front of him as he finished the bowl.

"What was that?" he asked as she took the bowl from him.

" _Telayitren._ " She replied, then explained, "It's an herbal tea from my homeland. I brought a pouch of dried leaves to make it during my travels." Then she held out her hand as if asking for something. "Your shirt."

He stared at her. "What about it?" he asked, utterly confused.

"Take it off," she replied, as though he had asked her the most ridiculous question.

He gaped. "Um…" he could not find the words to say.

She laughed, a little tinkling laugh. "Take off your shirt so you don't get chilled," she told him. "You've sweated through your nightmare, and the effects of the _telayitren_ won't help anything if you keep it on. Here." She tossed him a clean, dry, shirt. "It's true, I wouldn't mind watching you take your shirt off any other time as well, but it isn't quite the mood right now," she said cheerfully.

Alistair snorted and blushed as he pulled off his shirt and replaced it with the one she handed him. "You wouldn't, hm?" He asked through the linen. He pulled his head through and looked at her. She was watching him with a small smile on her face and her eyes flashed playfully at him, as she did when she was teasing him.

"Wouldn't any woman?" She said, holding his gaze for a moment before leaving with the empty bowl.

Alistair grinned and sighed. Nightmares always left him feeling awful after he woke up, but this time he felt oddly refreshed and calm. He stood up and started packing up his tent and putting on armor, as the rest of the camp woke around him at the light of dawn.

When he finished packing, he went outside to stretch. He was given some dried meat and bread from another Warden and he joined Zalandri at the edge of camp, where she was watching all the Wardens pack and eat. She had already gathered her things and was waiting patiently. When he approached her, she stood up straight.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. I usually feel awful after having those wretched nightmares, but I feel fine now. You're amazing!" He said enthusiastically, then felt warm and hurriedly corrected himself. "I mean, your tea soup stuff. Well, I mean, not that you're not amazing, you know… um…" He grinned sheepishly at Zalandri. She laughed, throwing her head back, hair swaying. She touched his arm lightly, and he felt again he could not look away from her smile.

They waited for the rest of camp to get ready, and finally they started off, everyone happy that their journey almost over.

Zalandri walked with Alistair until midday, when Duncan called her over to talk to him as they continued. She made her way over to the older Warden and greeted him.

"I was just curious as to where you were planning on headed after Ostagar," Duncan said, "Do you have a goal to get to in your travels?"

Zalandri shook her head. "No, Ser Duncan," she said, "I do not. I am simply traveling for the sake of time, I suppose…" She trailed off. _Where_ am _I going?_ She thought. The idea of leaving the Wardens didn't occur to her, she suddenly realized, and she did not think she liked it. She had grown to love the group of rowdy, well-meaning men, and did not wish to part with them, but she supposed she must, and felt a little sad. She thought of Alistair, and how much she enjoyed being with him, and she did not like the idea of leaving.

Duncan watched her face as she thought, seeing her brow furrow slightly. "Well," he said slowly, "if that is the case, would you consider joining the Grey Wardens?" He could not help but smile at the young woman as she snapped her head up to look at him in surprise. "You are a valuable asset to the battlefield, and I believe you would make an excellent recruit," he continued, "We could make the arrangement at Ostagar, as there are other waiting there to begin the Joining."

Zalandri was silent, thinking over the offer. Duncan let her think for a minute before reassuring her, "Think it over today's journey. You can let me know when we get there." She nodded and bowed, thanking him, and made to return to Alistair when he spoke.

"You have become very close."

She turned around. Duncan was smiling kindly at her. "With Alistair," he continued. "You two have become quite close. I am glad to see it." He continued walking and she left, wondering exactly what he meant. She found Alistair again and continued walking by his side as though she had never left.

"There you are!" he exclaimed. "What did Duncan want?"

Zalandri shrugged. "Oh, nothing," she said lightly, "He just wanted to know what I was planning on doing after we reach Ostagar. Where I was planning to go, I mean."

Alistair's smile was wiped off his face. "Oh," he said, in a strange voice. "Right. Well… well, where are you going?"

Zalandri did not look at him, but up to the sky where Feren was circling. "I'm not sure," she answered honestly. Alistair did not press the issue, but seemed to lose some of the pep in his step and they continued walking in silence for a while.


	4. Joining

When the Grey Wardens saw the gates of Ostagar, they let out a great cheer. Alistair leaned heavily on Zalandri's shoulder, faking a limp, and sighed, "Maker, finally." It had taken them a week to arrive, being slowed down here and there by attacks by darkspawn. They were all tired and badly needed baths and rest.

They entered through the gates and set up camp quickly, got a fire going, and went about to making some food. Zalandri pitched her tent and threw her cloak and scarf down inside, and went look around the grounds. She walked slowly, with Feren on her shoulder, thinking about Duncan's offer. _The Grey Wardens_ , she mulled the idea over in her mind. _Fighting the Blight, the Darkspawn, until my days are over…_ It seemed desperate, but she was surprised that it did not feel a heavy burden. She had already fled her home, and had no intentions of going back, and this had purpose, unlike aimlessly wandering the lands of Thedas, collecting knowledge on plants and animals.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw a pair of booted feet facing her. She looked up, surprised, and came face to face with Alistair, who broke into laughter.

"Someone's distracted," he chortled. "What's eating you?"

She shrugged and laughed with him, and he moved on. "Duncan is calling for you," he said, with a questioning look.

She nodded. "Right, I'm ready." They set off towards a large fire where Duncan was standing, talking to two Grey Wardens. He saw them coming and he sent the Wardens away, turning toward Zalandri.

"I've made my decision," she told him. She felt secure in her thoughts, and, in a way, relieved.

He raised his eyebrows. She nodded. His face gave into a smile and he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Welcome," he said warmly. She smiled back and thanked him. "There are a couple other recruits waiting for the Joining. I will have all of you finish the tasks together."

"What?" Alistair was alarmed, eyes flickering between Duncan and Zalandri. "You… You're becoming a Warden?"

Zalandri smiled and nodded at him, but to her surprise Alistair looked indignant and extremely worried.

"But-"

"She has made her decision, Alistair." Duncan interrupted him, with a pointed look. Alistair stared at him for a moment before muttering "Yes, ser…", biting his lip. Duncan nodded.

"I will go find the recruits." He strode away from them disappeared into camp. Alistair stood, looking at the ground in silence.

Zalandri tentatively took a step forward to him. "Alistair… What's wrong?"

He looked at her, and it was as though he did not know what face to make. He was a mix of emotions, and seemed worried, sad, but at the same time, hopeful. "I… nothing. I'm sorry. It's… exciting. It really is. You joining the Wardens, I mean." He forced himself to smile. "I'll be with you through the Joining. You know, it just occured to me that there never have been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is..."

"I can handle myself better than most," Zalandri teased. "What do I have to do for the Joining?"

Alistair looked worried and uncomfortable again. "There's... not a lot I can tell you. We go and collect darkspawn blood, and then you'll hear everything."

"Surely there's something you can tell me," she pressed. He looked apologetic, stepped closer to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I… look, Zala, I can't tell you much, alright?" He seemed nervous, and Zalandri smiled to him to try to cheer him up.

"Hey, I'll be fine!"

He smiled weakly, and let his fingers graze her cheek before moving back and clearing his throat.

"Ah, look, there's Duncan.."

Duncan walked briskly up to the fire with two men, slightly older than Alistair and Zala. They were introduced as Daveth and Jory, and they were the two other recruits. When polite greetings had gone around, Duncan addressed all of them.

"You will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to fulfill the first task for the Joining," he said, looking at each in turn, then to Alistair. "Alistair will be accompanying you. You will be collecting three vials of Darkspawn blood: one for each of you. Return when you have completed this task, and we shall complete the Joining."

"Darkspawn blood? What do we need that for?" Daveth asked.

"You will see soon enough," Duncan replied, face unreadable. "There is another thing. In the wilds there are some ruins to the north east. In those ruins is the Grey Warden's Cache- an important set of documents allowing us Wardens to seek aid from our allies. Find this and bring it here."

The recruits bowed to Duncan and set off to the gates with Alistair. They were warned of danger by the guard, and the gate shut behind them.

"Well, then!" Alistair said in a fake cheery voice. "Let's go hunt some darkspawn, shall we?"

He let Zalandri lead the group northeast, towards the lake. Halfway past the lake, Alistair took hold of Zalandri's arm and gestured forward with his eyes. She squinted, and saw a group of figures moving in the distance. She looked back at Daveth and Jory, who were watching them with their weapons ready. Daveth was taking an arrow out of his quiver, and nodded at Zalandri. She took a deep breath, and they began making their way toward the Darkspawn, swiftly but silently. Once they were within charging Alistair and Jory gave a great yell to attract the Darkspawn, and charged through them, knocking some down and injuring others. Daveth let loose arrow after arrow, and Zalandri crept behind those attacking Alistair and Jory to deliver killing blows.

They ended the fight quickly, and Zalandri brought out the glass vials to collect blood. She put the vials in her pouch and they moved on, headed toward the tall ruins they could see in the distance.

They searched the ruins, but could not find the treaties. Alistair was cursing under his breath when suddenly they heard a voice behind them.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger, poking the midst of corpses that were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder? Come into these dark spawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey."

A woman with odd clothing and pinned black hair was walking down the steps of the ruins toward them. No one said a word, but drew their weapons.

She smirked. "What say you? Hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

Zalandri spoke first. "Neither. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

The woman smirked and walked past them. "I have observed you for some time. _Where do they go_ , I wondered; _why are they here?_ And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

Alistair moved close to Zalandri. "Don't answer her," he whispered, "she looks Chasind, and that means other may be near by."

"Oh, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!" the woman mocked.

Alistair narrowed his eyes. "Yes… swooping is bad…" he muttered.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is!" Daveth was nearly trembling in his boots. "She'll turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds…" the woman repeated, and chuckled. "Such idle fancies. Have you no minds of your own? You there," she looked at Zalandri, "women do not scare like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Zalandri figured being polite could do no harm. "I am Zalandri," she answered, "a pleasure to meet you."

The woman seemed please at this response. "And I, Morrigan," she said. "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer."

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair looked at Morrigan with disdain, "You stole them, didn't you? You're some kind of… sneaky… witch thief!" He looked put out that he could not think of something harsher to say.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan was unimpressed, "How does one steal from dead men? It was not I that took them, but my mother. I can take you to her, 'tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers if you'd like."

Alistair spoke to Zalandri again. "We should get those treaties… but I don't like this… _Morrigan_ 's sudden appearance. It's too convenient." He eyed Morrigan suspiciously. Zalandri thought for a second, then made up her mind.

"I say we go with her," she said to Alistair, who nodded grimly, "Please, lead the way." She called to Morrigan, who shrugges and turned to walk out to the Wilds.

"I hope this goes well," Alistair muttered. Zalandri took his hand, taking him by surprise, and squeezed it. He gave back equal pressure, and suppressed a smile despite their situation. Zalandri let go of his hand to draw her blade, just in case, as they followed Morrigan deeper into the Wilds.

They arrived at a small hut in a swampy part of the Wilds, and were met by an old woman with white hair, who didn't at all seem surprised to see them.

"Much as I expected," she murmured to herself.

"Are we to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair was clearly distrustful. He had an expression like he was forced to eat dirt.

"You are required to do nothing. Shut ones eyes tight or open them wide… either way, one's a fool!" the old woman smirked.

Daveth and Jory whimpered about witches again, and the old woman scoffed at them before turning to Zalandri.

"What of you? Does your woman's mind offer a different perspective on the matter? Or do you believe in stories like these boys do?"

"I am not sure what to believe," she replied honestly.

"A statement that implies more wisdom that it seems. Do I believe? Yes, it appears I do," the woman mused to herself.

"So… _this_ is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds." Alistair's sarcasm did not go unnoticed, but the Witch brushed it off with a laugh.

"You came for your treaties yes?" she turned and walked toward the hut, "Before you begin barking, let me tell you that your precious seals wore off long ago. I have been protecting these." She handed the documents to Zalandri, who passed it to Alistair behind her. He took them, face changing quickly from suspicious to surprised.

"You… oh. You protected them?" he asked the Witch blankly.

"Any why not?" she answered, raising her eyebrows. Then her expression became serious. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that this blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"Greater than they realize?" Zalandri asked.

"Oh, do not mind me. You have what you came for," the Witch laughed, amused by herself.

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan drawled.

The Witch turned to her daughter and looked at her as though the comment had been directed at herself. "Don't be ridiculous child, these are your guests!"

Morrigan looked utterly exasperated. "Very well then, I shall lead you out of the woods," she sighed.

With Morrigan leading, the group returned without incident to camp. The young witch left them at the edge, and had disappeared when Zalandri turned to say goodbye. They found Duncan and presented the three vials of darkspawn blood and the Grey Warden's Cache. He seemed pleased enough with the vials, and very relieved to see the Cache. Alistair summarized the Witches they had encountered in the Wilds, and Duncan frowned and seemed thoughtful about this, but dismissed it quickly.

"We will carry on with the Joining now. I know they are apostates, Alistair, but leave your Templar training aside for now. Let us go." He lead the way to the Old Temple, and in a large goblet, made a mixture with the vials of blood.

Jory was starting to grow impatient. "The more I hear of this joining, the less i like it. Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?"

Daveth tried to calm him down. "Maybe it's tradition. Maybe they're just trying to annoy you,: he joked.

Zalandri watched the two of them discuss their feelings about the Joining in silence, listening. Alistair appeared next to her to watch them as well.

"And… what do you think about it?" he asked her in a low voice.

Zalandri was silent for a moment, watching Jory grow more and more anxious. Alistair watched her, unable to keep the worry from his eyes. Then she gave a small nod and answered him.

"I trust you. I trust Duncan. Whatever you cannot tell me, I trust you have good reason. I am not afraid of the Joining."

Alistair let out a sigh of relief, as though he had been holding his breath for her answer.

"Although," she added, looking at the goblet Duncan was handling with disgust, "if it involves… _drinking_ Darkspawn blood… I might hate you a little for it. I still trust you, but my tongue resents you already."

Alistair laughed, drawing looks from Jory and Daveth, and an exasperated one from Duncan. He saw the look from Duncan and quickly stifled it, turning it into a cough and covering his mouth with his hand.

Finally Duncan was ready for them. Alistair performed some words, and they began. Jory looked pale, eyeing the goblet incredulously.

"We're… going to drink that.. the blood of those-those creatures?" he gaped, looking both furious and terrified.

Duncan's face remained unchanged. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, and us before you. It is the source of our power- the way we avoid taint from the Blight."

"Those of us who survive the Joining gain the power from the blood to become immune to the taint. We can sense the Darkspawn, and we use that power to slay them-and the Archdemon." Alistair explained.

Jory looked completely unconvinced as Duncan took the cup and faced Daveth, who looked nervous, but steady.

"Daveth, step forward…"

Daveth took the goblet from Duncan and raised it to his lips, drank, and handed it back to Duncan. First he looked sick, deathly pale, then suddenly he collapsed to the ground, groaning and writhing in agony. His body convulsed violently, and everyone took a step back. His body slowly stopped twitching, his noises fell silent, and suddenly he stopped moving. Alistair bowed his head and Duncan did the same.

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan whispered. He then turned to Jory, who had backed up against the wall and was staring at Daveth in horror. When he noticed Duncan turned towards him, his hand shot to the hilt of his sword.

"I-I have a wife," he stammered, drawing it, "a child… Had I known-"

"There is no turning back," Duncan told him, but Jory grew desperate.

"No!" he yelled, getting ready to swing, "You ask too much, there is no glory in this!" He swung hard at Duncan, but the Warden had drawn his sword as well and was quick to overpower him. He thrust the blade into Jory's ribs, killing him, and covering them both with blood.

"I am sorry," he whispered into the younger man's ear, then let him drop to the floor. He sheathed his weapon and turned to Zalandri with the goblet.

Alistair looked as though he might stop Duncan, he was beside himself with anxiety. He looked at Zalandri frantically, but she seemed to remain calm, though she was feeling quite sick with nerves and the smell of spilt blood.

Nevertheless, she took the goblet from Duncan, and with a final look at Alistair, she raised it to her lips and drank. She gagged, both from the wretched, rotten taste of the blood and from the smell, and Duncan took the goblet from her before she could drop it. She staggered back, then suddenly she bent over, doubling in pure agony shooting through her veins. Her eyes fell shut and she could not support herself standing anymore, and felt her body fall. She did not feel herself hit the ground, but faded into black.

She felt a cold, wet sensation running across her forehead. Her eyes, still heavy, flickered open, and it took her a moment to be able to focus on her vision. Blurry images came into view, and she was looking into Alistair's extremely worried face and Duncan's relieved one. She groaned, and Alistair's face broke into a nervous grin, and Duncan wiped her brow with the cold cloth one more time before standing.

She realized Alistair was holding her half sitting up, and though she wanted to, she could still not sit by her own strength. Her body was numb, and her senses were only slowly beginning to come back.

"Congratulations, and welcome," Duncan said with a smile, bowing. "You made it. Forgive me, but I must go speak to the King. He has called a meeting, and sends for me. He would also like for the two of you to attend, though I am not certain as to the reason why. When you are ready, come before the bridge." He turned and hurried off.

Zalandri closed her eyes for a moment again, then groaned as she tried to sit up. Alistair helped her, and though she sat independently now, he still kept a firm hand on her back, expecting her to fall limp again. He still looked worried, but a little less so than when she had first woken.

"I'm alive," she mumbled, rubbing her face. She could wiggle her toes now, and could feel the strength returning to her legs.

Alistair laughed and patted her back gently. "I know the feeling," he said. He watched her as she blinked slowly, and his smile was slightly less when her gaze fell on him. He was looking at her intently, face filled with relief, as if making really sure that she was in fact alive. Suddenly he found he was lifting a hand to her cheek, which she allowed him to stroke. They gazed at each other in silence for a moment as his fingers trailed down to her neck, when he murmured, almost to himself, "When you collapsed, I thought… you…"

Zalandri took his hand squeezed it, closing the gap between their foreheads. "I'm here," she said, barely audible, but he heard her and nodded. She let go of his hand a pulled back, turning to her legs.

She looked at them blankly, as if willing them to move. She sighed and fell into his chest suddenly, leaning her head on his collar, much to his alarm.

"Zal! What-"

"I'm fine," she groaned, "My legs just aren't working."

"You- oh. Ah. Yes, yes I remember that feeling. Um… here… Let's try…" he trailed off, and hesitantly scooped one arm under hers and around her ribs, drawing her closer, and the other under her legs.

Zalandri lifted her head. "What-" she began, but suddenly he had lifted her, standing, and she gave a small, surprise yelp and automatically clung to his neck. His cheeks flushed, but he slowly set her down upright, keeping a firm arm around her torso, but letting her feet find the ground. She understood what he was trying to do, and gripped firmly onto his shoulders as she felt the ground, stable beneath her. She stood there with his help for a few moments before loosening her grip.

"Hm," she murmured when she didn't sway, but felt quite steady. "Thank you," she said to him. Alistair still had an arm around her tightly, but when she turned to him he flushed and let go quickly, making sure she wouldn't fall. He grunted his reply and looked at her feet distrustfully, as though he were sure they would break at any moment. Zalandri took a deep breath, and they began slowly making their way to the bridge.


	5. Battle of Ostagar

King Cailan, accompanied by a couple of his guards, was arguing with Teryn Loghain, leaning over a map of Ostagar's grounds on the table in front of him. Zalandri could only catch a few words of the argument - "Orlesians", and "fool notion" from Loghain- but could understand that the King was growing frustrated with the Teryn. Duncan caught sight of Alistair and Zalandri, with Feren, just returned from his dinner hunt, perched on her shoulder. Zalandri was walking strongly now, no longer needing support from Alistair. Duncan nodded to the both of them and cleared his throat to politely interrupt King Cailan. The king looked up from his map and looked at the two approaching Wardens with an enthusiastic grin. Teryn Loghain, however, seemed not as pleased to see them, and kept a stiff, straight face, narrowing his eyes in distrust.

"So this is the new recruit! One of the Voshai, no less!" King Cailan practically bounced forward in excitement. Alistair gave a curt little bow to the king, and Zalandri bent down to her knee. The king waved his hands at her at laughed. "Please, please, there is no need! I believe congratulations are in order! It really is an honor. Every Grey Warden is needed now, and Duncan has told me much about you-"

"Excuse me, your majesty," Teryn Loghain called, annoyed at the meeting being interrupted. "If we may get back to my plan…"

"Yes, yes, of course, of course," Cailan rolled his eyes with a wink at Zalandri. He stepped back to the table and bent over the blueprints again. "So speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the Darkspawn into charging our lines, and then…?"

"You will alert your men to light the beacon in the tower" Loghain shot a quick, dark look at the three Wardens in front of him, "and my men will charge from the shadows-"

"To flank the darkspawn, yes, I remember," the king interrupted. "This is the Tower of Ishal, in the ruins, yes? Who shall light the beacon?"

Loghain drew himself up. "I have a few men stationed there. It's not a dangerous task, but it _is_ vital."

"Then we should send our best," Cailan looked up at Alistair and Zalandri. "Send Alistair and the new recruit to make sure it's done."

Alistair opened his mouth in protest, but Duncan silenced him with a stern look. Zalandri gave a small bow. "It will be done, your majesty."

Loghain looked at her with unease, up and down, taking in every detail of her. Feren rustled his feathers in annoyance at being scrutinized. "You rely on these Wardens too much, Cailan. Is this truly wise?"

Cailan rolled his eyes at him. "Enough of your conspiracies, Loghain," he said, cheery voice now sounding impatient. "The Grey Wardens fight the Blight, no matter where they are from."

He turned to the Grey Wardens. "I cannot wait for this glorious moment," his usual smile returned, "The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!" He looked like a child who had been given a brand new toy.

"Yes, Cailan," Zalandri was the only one who heard Teryn Loghain speak to himself and he turned and walked away from the table. "A glorious moment for us all."

Zalandri and Alistair followed Duncan back to the fire pit once King Cailan had left.

"You heard the plan," he said. "You will go to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon once we give the signal."

Alistair could not help himself any longer. "Why won't I be in the battle?" he blurted indignantly.

Alistair looked at him sternly, but Zalandri thought she she could see pity in his eyes. "This is by the King's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, then Teryn Loghain's men will not know when to charge."

Alistair was skeptical. "So he needs two Grey Wardens up there to light the beacon. Just in case, right?"

Zalandri spoke up, though she was hesitant. She felt uneasy about Teryn Loghain, but she wasn't sure exactly why. "Ser Duncan," she said cautiously, "I have… I feel… Unsure, about Ser Loghain and his involvement in the plan…" But Duncan held up a hand.

"Teryn Loghain may not be the most likable of men, Zalandri, but he has been a loyal and important man for Ferelden's well being. If King Cailan trusts his plan, then so be it."

Zalandri was not convinced, but she bit her lip and nodded.

"We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn," he said, addressing Alistair's protest. "Whether it is exciting or not."

Alistair sighed. "I get it, I get it." But not to be completely defeated, he added, "But just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I draw the line. Darkspawn or no."

Zalandri chortled and smirked at him. "I think I'd like to see that."

Alistair smiled mischievously at her and winked. "For you, maybe… but it has to be a pretty dress."

Duncan rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed, wondering how he got to be acquainted with the ridiculous young Wardens. He forced the conversation along.

"You'll need to cross the gorge over the bridge to get to the tower. At the top you'll be able to see the entire valley."

"How much time do we have?" Zalandri straightened her face and became serious once more.

"The battle is about to begin. You'll need to move quickly. You have under an hour." He took a deep breath, looking at the two of them. "Remember you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

"Duncan," Alistair looked at the older Warden with respect… and worry. "May the Maker watch over you." He sincerely meant it, and was in fact quite nervous about leaving the man's side in battle.

Duncan nodded. "May the Maker watch over us all," he said gravely, and turned to join the ranks of battle.

Alistair was reluctant to go at once to the tower, and he watched his senior walk away until he was out of sight. Zalandri quickly coated her weapons in a fresh layer of poision, then took his hand gently, which finally made him turn around, and gave him an encouraging smile.

"We will see him again." _In life or in death_ , she added to herself. Alistair seemed grateful for the words of comfort, though he was not sure of the truth in them, and squeezed her hand. He looked back at where Duncan had disappeared once more, and they set off at a run toward the tower.

Feren flew high over them, keeping watch. Zalandri, in lighter armor and already faster than Alistair, sprinted ahead, leaping over rubble and reaching half way over the bridge as he stepped onto it. Just when she was almost at the end, the entire bridge shook, so hard that she was thrown off of her feet and slammed into the cold brick. Dazed, she shakily stood up and looked back. A catapult had been launched at the bridge and had knocked everyone down. Large boulders of stone and rubble littered the damaged bridge, and she spotted Alistair in the middle, standing up after receiving a similar blow. She heard a screech from Feren and she looked up in time to see a second catapult launching a massive boulder towards them, barely missing the bridge. She flew back to a coughing Alistair's side and grabbed his arm, leading him through the rubble so quickly that he almost stumbled a few times before they reached the other side. Under the cover of some trees, Alistair wiped his eyes clear of dust and they continued.

Yelling could be heard now from the direction of the tower. An archer and a mage came running out of the ruins, coughing from the smoke in the air. They took sight of the two Wardens and ran up to them.

"You two- you're Grey Wardens, aren't you? The tower's been taken!"

"What are you talking about, man, taken how?" Alistair asked.

"The darkspawn, they came up through the lower chambers. They're everywhere. Most of our men are dead!" the mage exclaimed. He looked terrified.

"Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves," Zalandri gazed up at the tower and started running again.

Alistair commanded the two men to follow, and they all ran after Zalandri. They passed under the arch and Zalandri and Alistair dug their heels into the ground, charging into the throng of fighting men and darkspawn. While the archer and mage launched attacks from afar, Zalandri wound around the darkspawn, dealing fatal blows from their shadows. Moving swiftly from one to the next, she had cut down many in just a few minutes. She heard a struggling yell from Alistair and she whipped around, drawing a poison dart from her pouch and throwing it deep into the uncovered throat of a darkspawn hurlock that was close to overpowering Alistair in strength. The hurlock stepped back and dropped to its knees, and Alistair swung hard, decapitating it. He nodded in thanks to Zalandri, but saw something over her shoulder that sent a surge of desperation through him. A large alpha was charging at Zalandri from behind, getting ready to swing his large mace.

"ZAL, MOVE TO YOUR LEFT, NOW!" Alistair roared, and used as much strength he could muster into charging towards them. Zalandri, without question, dove into a roll to move out of the way, sweeping in front of her with her two blades as she came up to gut another charging hurlock. Alistair charged through the Alpha with a roar, his blade slicing through its knees, turned, and thrust his sword into its back, shoving it back off with his foot.

Zalandri leapt towards him, blocking the blade of a grunt with one of her own, and slicing the abdomen with the other. She gave a strong kick and sent the grunt back flying, and it did not get up. At the same time, Alistair blocked an incoming attack by another grunt, knocking it back, and stepped forward quickly to swipe its head clean off.

Breathing hard, Zalandri and Alistair looked at their surroundings, finding no darkspawn left alive, and turned back to each other. Unable to speak yet, they simply gave the other a relieved smile and turned to hurry up the steps, the mage and archer still in tail.

They ran through the entrance of the tower, and fought their way up, Zalandri expertly disarming traps, and the two Wardens continued to fight in harmony, being able to predict each other's movements and trust sudden instruction without question from all of their fights together on their way to Ostagar. Near the top floor they were given pause, and fought with their bodies to catch their breath. Between heaves, Alistair spoke.

"Maker's… breath!" he gasped, wiping his brow with his glove. "What are the darkspawn doing here, ahead of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Despite their grim situation, Zalandri managed to smile at him playfully. "Weren't you complaining that you didn't get to fight?"

He grinned, laughing through his deep breaths. "Heh- You're right. I guess there is a silver lining here, if you think about it."

The mage and archer were staring at them, heaving, incredulous at how the two could be so light hearted at a time like this.

Alistair straightened up from the wall he was leaning against. "At any rate, we need to hurry," he said. His breathing had slowed to an almost normal pace now. Zalandri nodded and they opened the door to the next floor. They fought their way through two more flights before opening the door to the top.

They rushed in, and skidded to a halt. The floor beneath them shook, and the mage whispered a prayer as they looked forward, facing a massive, heavily armored ogre, standing at least twice as tall as Zalandri. It turned toward them and roared, spit flying, and they were all almost dazed by the stench. Zalandri gave a warning shout, and they all dodged just in time as it suddenly charged, with greater speed and force than any of them could have imagined, directly through them, destroying the door they had come through. It grunted and shook its head, slowly turning around again, and Zalandri took that chance to throw her remaining poison darts into its thick skin. The poison wouldn't work immediately as it did on humans, but eventually it would sink in giving them an upper hand.

 _If we're still alive by then_ , she thought grimly. The archer and mage took up positions in the far corners are the room and began launching steady attacks on the monster. Alistair, not as fast as Zalandri but faster yet than the ogre, danced around it, keeping its attention as Zalandri whipped around it, attacking every opening she could find. The ogre roared in frustration and pain with each attack, and suddenly brought its feet down against the brick, slamming Alistair to the ground and causing Zalandri's knees to buckle underneath her. It swung at the fallen Alistair, and he was thrown across the room into a fallen pillar where he lay dazed, unable to move.

"NO!" Zalandri cried, and ran to his side in a panic. Blood trickled down from his head and he was having trouble focusing his eyes on her, and she sat him upright against the pillar. She choked back a desperate noise threatening to escape, and turned to the ogre in a rage. It was turning, getting ready to charge at them once more, but she was faster. As the ogre started its charge, she ran towards it, and using a large fallen wall as a stepping platform, she leapt into the air, blades bared, and crashed into the monster, blades sinking deep into its chest and the momentum of her attack sending it back and down. They landed with a crash, and she stabbed at its chest desperately as it roared, and finally sunk her blade deep into its heart and twisted it, stopping the ogre's movements with a violent twitch.

She drew out her blades from the beast and jumped off of it, turning as she hit the ground and running to Alistair. He was coming to, and realized he was staring into her extremely anxious face.

"Zal…" he groaned, tongue heavy, vision still slightly blurry.

"Alistair, thank the gods," she breathed, taking his face into her hands and inspecting him.

"Ogre…" his mouth felt like it was stuffed with dirt.

"It's done, it's dead," she reassured him, wiping away blood that was trickling down his face.

"Mmh…" Suddenly his eyes focused and he looked at her urgently. "The beacon," he told her, "Light the beacon, quickly!"

She had almost forgotten what they were here for. She clambered up and ran to the beacon, pushing aside the rubble, and threw the torch into the wood. It flamed up, and was soon blazing brightly to be seen all around.

She went back and she and the mage and archer all helped Alistair to his feet, and he walked unsteadily to the ogre to inspect it.

Suddenly the rubble in the doorway burst apart, and a volley of arrows invaded the room. Zalandri barely turned around when she was hit with one, two, three arrows. She stumbled back, tripping over a fallen soldier, and hit the ground, where everything faded to black.


	6. Out of the Wilds, and through Lothering

Zalandri found herself in a small room of a hut, breathing in murky, cold air on the old, worn bed she was lying on. She wasn't sure when she had woken up, or how she got there, and couldn't think properly for a few minutes. She closed her eyes and thought back as far as she could.

 _King Cailan and Loghain arguing… Duncan… the Tower of Ishal… ogre… Alistair was hurt… darkspawn… Alistair._ Her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, too quickly. The room spun and she rolled from the bed with a thud onto the floor. The door opened, and a strange but somehow familiar young woman came in, raising her eyebrows in an exasperated way at the dizzy, bumbling Voshai. Morrigan closed the door behind her and sighed, pulling Zalandri up onto the bed again. Zalandri groaned and squinted at her through her hands.

"You… the Witch. Morrigan," she rasped.

"Yes, I am she," Morrigan drawled, going over to the fire to stir a large pot that was hanging over it. "You have finally woken up. You're lucky my mother saved you from that tower. She will be pleased. How does your memory fare? Do you remember mother's rescue?"

"What happened to the army? To the king?" Zalandri was thinking clearly now, and she was pulling on her linen shirt that had been draped on the bedpost.

"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. You were overrun by darkspawn," Morrigan answered, contempt lingering in her voice for Loghain's actions. "Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend… is not taking it well."

"My friend… Alistair?" Zalandri stood and pulled on her pants, wincing at the sudden pains going through her sides.

"Careful, or I shall not bandage those wounds again," Morrigan warned. "The suspicious dim-witted one who was with you before, yes. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."

Zalandri nodded and slipped into her leather boots. She walked to the door and turned around, bowing to Morrigan, who seemed quite surprised.

"Thank you, serah. I am in you and your mother's debt." Morrigan was genuinely surprised by the humble thanks, and did not know what to say.

"I… you are welcome." she decided against another snarky answer. "Though mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

Zalandri stepped outside, where Alistair was standing, his back to her, looking out over the marsh. The old Witch they had met before was sitting in a chair, stroking Feren's feathers lovingly. She looked up as Feren gave a small squawk and flew to Zalandri, nuzzling his little beak into her neck. She smiled, nuzzled him back gently and mumbled a greeting at him, happy that her companion was safe and well. The Witch stood up and looked over at Alistair.

"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

Alistair turned around and ran to Zalandri, almost running into her.

"You- you're alive," his voice was hoarse, and he didn't seem to really believe what he was saying. "Thank the Maker. Are you alright? Were you hurt badly? Where were you hurt?" He grabbed her shoulders and roughly turned her around, inspecting her for visible signs of blood. She planted her feet firmly and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Alistair, I'm fine. Morrigan and her mother healed and bandaged me. It's okay." Alistair seemed relieved, and his hands fell to her waist, holding her tight as though he was afraid she would disappear. His eyes flickered down to her shoulder, where Feren was peering out of her hair, annoyed at being shaken on his perch.

"Ah, and hello to you, too, Ser Feren," Alistair held up his hand to the little hawk, who nibbled it affectionately, forgiving his clumsiness. Alistair sighed and gazed Zalandri again, just to make sure she was in tact. She could see dark circles forming under his eyes, and his usually cheerful face was dark and sullen, as though he did not have the strength to keep his head up.

"If it had not been for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower for sure," he muttered.

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the old woman said, and Alistair and Zalandri both turned to her.

"I didn't mean…" Alistair began apologetically. "But-but what do we call you? You never told us your name."

She smirked. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me 'Flemeth', so I suppose it will do."

Alistair stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. " _The_ Flemeth?" he asked, incredulous. "From the legends? Then… Daveth was right. You are the Witch of the Wilds."

"Thank you, serah Flemeth," Zalandri bowed to the witch. "Thank you for rescuing us and treating our wounds."

Flemeth was pleased. "Now here is a young woman who has not forgot her manners!" she cackled.

"But why did you save us?" pressed Alistair.

"Well, we can't have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with the darkspawn. It has always been the duty of the Wardens to unite the land when there is a Blight. Or did that change while I wasn't looking?"

"But we were fighting the darkspawn," Alistair cried, "The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do something like this?"

"Now that is a good question," Flemeth nodded. "Men's hearts hold darker shadows than any tainted creature."

"What could Teryn Loghain hope to gain by betraying the king?" Zalandri asked.

"The throne?" suggested Alistair. "He's the queen's father. Still, I cannot see how he can get away with murder."

"He's not the first king to gain his throne that way," Zalandri muttered. Flemeth looked at her with some amusement.

"Indeed," she agreed.

"If Arl Eamon knew what had happened, he would never stand for it. The Landsmeet would never stand for it! There would be civil war!" Alistair said angrily.

"You suggest we go to the arl of Redcliffe?" Zalandri asked him.

"I suppose…" Alistair looked thoughtful. "He wasn't at Ostagar, he still has all his men. And he's Cailan's uncle. I know him," he looked hopeful now. "He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Yes, we could go and seek help from the arl!"

Zalandri nodded, and Flemeth laughed.

"Such determination. How intriguing.." she said, observing the two of them.

"Though, I'm not sure his forces would be enough. He can't defeat the darkspawn on his own." Alistair was unsure how to proceed.

"What about the treaties?" Zalandri had looked through the Cache when they had retrieved them from Flemeth before the battle. "If we call on the other allies in Ferelden, they are bound to give us their aid, are they not?"

"Of course!" Alistair clapped a hand to his head. "Dwarves, elves, mages… they're obligated to help the Wardens during a Blight!"

Flemeth was looking appreciatively at Zalandri. "You seem well versed in the preparation of war during political unrest. Where did you say you were from, child?"

Zalandri nodded. "I am from across the Volca sea, from Narukk. My family, the House of Jémes, is one that is… involved in such dealings often."

Flemeth nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes," she said, looking at the young woman with newfound interest. "I know of your family. You would know of war and dirty fighting nobles." She turned to Alistair once more. "Dwarves, elves, mages… I may be old, but this sounds like an army to me."

"So.. can we do this?" Alistair was still unsure. "Go to Redcliffe and just.. build an army?"

"Why not? Isn't that what Grey Wardens do?" Zalandri said with a smile.

"So, are you ready then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?" Flemeth had an excited gleam in her eye.

"Yes," Zalandri bowed deeply once more. "Thank you for everything, Flemeth."

"No, no," she shook her head. "You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. Now… before you go, there is yet one more thing that I can offer you."

Just then, Morrigan came outside of the hut. "The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have to guests for the eve," she turned to look at the two Wardens, "or none?"

"The Grey Wardens will be leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them." Flemeth said, nonchalantly, and Zalandri could not hide her surprise.

"Such a shame-" Morrigan started sarcastically, but then looked at her mother sharply when she had realized what the old woman had said. "What?"

"You heard me girl." Flemeth did not hide the smirk on her lips. "The last I looked, you had ears!" She threw back her head and cackled at the expression on Morrigan's face.

Morrigan opened her mouth in protest, confused and angry.

Zalandri spoke quickly, trying to avoid any argument. "Thank you, but if Morrigan does not wish to join us…"

"Her magic will be useful." Flemeth answered. "Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the hordes."

Morrigan stood up straight, indignant, with her arms crossed. "Have I no say in this?" she demanded.

Flemeth gave her a wry smile. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you Wardens," she turned to them again, "consider this repayment for your lives."

Zalandri nodded and addressed Morrigan. "We will gladly accept your help. Thank you." Morrigan huffed and did not answer.

Alistair wasn't so sure. "Not to… look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Flemeth raised her eyebrows. "If you do not wish to have help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

Alistair quickly backtracked. "Ah. Point taken."

Morrigan was not yet convinced. "Mother.. this is not how I wanted this! I am not ready…"

"You must be ready, my girl. These two Wardens must unite the land against the Blight, and without you they will surely fail. All will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I… understand…"

Flemeth looked at the Wardens with a very serious face now. "And do you understand?" she asked them. "I give you that which I value above all else in the world. I do this because you must not fail."

"She won't come to harm with us," Zalandri reassured her. Alistair bowed politely.

"Allow me to get my things," Morrigan sighed. She disappeared into the hut and shortly returned with a small leather pack and her mage staff.

"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens," she said, sounding annoyed. "I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far, and you will find much you need there. Or," she shrugged, "I will simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."

Zalandri smiled at her and shook her head. "No, please. Do speak your mind. Thank you again for helping us."

Flemeth laughed loudly. "Oh, you will regret saying that," she warned.

Morrigan ignored this comment. "Farewell, mother. Eat the stew on the fire, and take care. I would hate to return to a burned down hut."

"Bah," the witch scoffed. "'Tis more likely that you would returned to find the whole area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."

Morrigan's stone expression cracked and she stammered. "I.. all I meant was…"

Flemeth looked at her warmly. "I know, child. Do try to have fun, dear."

They gathered their things, thanked Flemeth again and set off, Morrigan leading the way. Zalandri had been given a new cloak by Flemeth, and all of her weapons and pouches were comfortably hidden under the thick material. With her guidance, they were able to pass through the Wilds, unnoticed by any horde.

By early evening they reached the outskirts of Lothering, and just outside of the refugee camps, Alistair stopped and looked over the town.

"Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting." he remarked.

"Ah," Morrigan said dryly. "So you've finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?" Alistair had barely said a word on their way out of the Wilds, following Zalandri and Morrigan in a grim silence. Zalandri actually had to take his hand and lead him a few times, worried that he would run headlong into a tree, he was so glum in thought of Duncan. Morrigan had tried to make a few smart comments, but stopped with a shrug when Zalandri silently shook her head at her pleading for her not to go on.

Zalandri sighed to herself as the two started bickering. She guessed already that they would not get along.

"Is my being upset so hard to understand?" Alistair demanded, growing angry. "Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan looked at him, a bored expression. "Before or after I stopped laughing?" she replied. Alistair scoffed and shook his head.

"Right. Very creepy. Forget I asked," he muttered.

Zalandri decided it would be a good time to step in.

"You have been very quiet, Alistair…"

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry… I've just been… thinking."

"No wonder it took so long, then." Morrigan stretched.

Alistair opened his mouth furiously to snap back a retort, but Zalandri cut him off.

"About?"

"I thought… we should talk about where we intend to go, first." he shot a dark glare at Morrigan, who pretended not to notice.

Zalandri thought of their options for a moment, looking up at Feren who was soaring in circles high above them, looking for any signs of a meal.

"Redcliffe…" she said slowly, "Is where Arl Eamon is. It's also very close to the Tower of the Circle of Magi, is it not? And between us and Orzammar. I do not know where the Dalish elves are at the moment, specifically. It may do us good to head to Redcliffe first, gather our forces there, and then search for the elves."

Morrigan seemed to approve of the idea, as did Alistair.

"If we head east after that, we should hear more of the clan that wanders the areas of the Brecilian Forest."

They walked through the camps and found a tavern, with merchants standing outside. They traded and sold the valuables they had looted from darkspawn and other creatures in the Wilds for food and water, and went inside. The tavern was warm and homely, though the people in it were looking weary from stress and hunger. Among the drinkers Zalandri immediately noticed two men in armor, with crests she recognized. She pulled Alistair and Morrigan behind a wide pillar and gestured over her shoulder at the two men.

"Loghain's men," she said in a low voice. Morrigan peered curiously behind the pillar to see who she was talking about, and Alistair narrowed his eyes.

"What are they doing here?" he hissed.

Zalandri shook her head. "I'm not sure. Guess we should find out." She stepped out from behind the pillar, keeping a hand on the hilt of her dagger under her cloak, and walked towards the men.

They turned around, hearing her walk towards them, and looked her up and down, then at Alistair behind her.

"Haven't we been asking around for a woman matching this very description?" One said to the other through his helm.

"Yes, we have," the other sneered. "It seems we've been lied to." Several other armed men, all bearing the coat of Loghain, stood from the bar with their hands on their hilts.

"Now, now, ser, please, if I may," a high, pretty voice rang out, and a woman dressed in robes of the Chantry stepped forward with her hands up for peace. "Gentlemen," she smiled at Loghain's men, "surely there is no need for trouble. These are most likely more poor souls here to flee from the Blight." Zalandri noticed a small sword on her back, unusual for a Sister of the Chantry.

"They are more than that!" snapped the soldier. "Now step back, Sister. If you protect these traitors, you will get the same as them." He stepped back and placed his hand on his hilt, getting ready to draw. "Capture the Wardens and take them into custody!" he barked at his men. "Kill the Sister and anyone else who gets in our way!"

Zalandri drew her knives and went to stand in front of the Sister, but she had already drawn her sword and quickly taken down the soldier standing behind her. She nodded at Zalandri, signalling that she could handle her own, and Zalandri understood, moving to Alistair's aid as several soldiers rushed him at once. Morrigan coated the soldiers in an icy frost, and Zalandri moved steadily from one to another, smashing them into bits with her blades. Finally, they stood before the commander, who had dropped his weapon and surrendered against the bar.

Zalandri had him pinned there, a blade pointing at his neck, and she spoke dangerously soft to him.

"Take a message to Loghain."

He gulped and nodded carefully under the point of her dagger. "Wh-what do you want me to tell him?"

Her bright orange eyes flashed, causing a whimper to escape from his lips, and she said "We know what really happened at Ostagar. We're coming for him."

"I'll tell him! Right away!" he stammered, and dropped to his knees when she withdrew her blade. He clambered up and ran out of the tavern.

Zalandri sheathed her sword and apologized to the tavern keep for the ruckus. They, with the help of the Sister, dragged the bodies outside. The Sister stood and cleaned off her weapon before speaking to Zalandri.

"I apologize for interfering," she said with a smile. "But I couldn't just sit by and not help."

"Not at all," Zalandri replied, with a polite bow. "Thank you for your help. Though I admit, I did not seek to find a fighter in a Chantry Sister."

"Let me introduce myself." the Sister bowed back deeply. "I am Leliana, one of the Lay Sisters here in Lothering."

"I am Zalandri. This is Alistair, and Morrigan."

"You are Grey Wardens, fighting the Blight, yes?" Leliana asked after Alistair and Morrigan had exchanged greetings with her. "I know after what happened at Ostagar, you will need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along." She said cheerfully.

"Oh?" Zalandri raised her eyebrows at her.

"You are, are you?" Alistair asked.

"Yes. The Maker told me to."

Morrigan let out an audible groan behind Zalandri.

"Can you… elaborate?" Zalandri asked, ignoring Morrigan.

Leliana looked slightly flustered. "I- I know it sounds absolutely insane, but I had a dream! A vision! I believe it came from the Maker, and he needs me to help you defeat the Blight."

Alistair snorted with laughter. "More crazy? I thought we were full up," he muttered to Zalandri.

Leliana ignored Alistair's comment. "What you do, it's the Maker's work! Saving all these people… please, let me help!" She looked earnestly at Zalandri. She had an honest face.

"...Very well," she said, to the surprise of Morrigan and Alistair. "We do need as much help as we can get."

Leliana beamed. "Oh, thank you!" she cried. "Allow me to collect my things. I will rejoin you shortly." She hurried off to the Chantry.

Morrigan immediately made a sarcastic comment, but Zalandri ignored her.

"Are you sure? I mean, we do need help, but don't you think this one seems, a bit…" Alistair opened his eyes wide and made a movement around his head with his hands.

"We'll see. For now, it won't do us any good if we turned away help from anyone," Zalandri told him. He shrugged and nodded.

"I suppose so."

They wandered around Lothering, until they came across a cage with a very large, heavy set, muscular man inside.

Qunari, Zalandri recognized his features from those she saw in her journey in the north.

The Qunari was muttering something under his breath as he stood in the cage. She walked towards him and he looked down at her.

"You are not my captors. I will not amuse you anymore than I have the other humans. Go. Leave me in peace."

"You're a prisoner? Who put you here?" she asked him.

"I am in a cage am I not?" he replied, gesturing to the metal bars. "I was captured by the Chantry. I am Sten of the Berasaad - the vanguard- of the Qunari people.

Zalandri bowed. "I am Zalandri of the Voshai. Pleased to meet you."

Alistair marveled at her silently. She was always so polite.

Sten looked at her with narrowed eyes. "You mock me," he said. "Or you show me a politeness that I have not come to expect from humans. No matter. I will die here soon enough."

Alistair cleared his throat and spoke to Zalandri. "Not to put too fine a point on it," he said, looking at Sten, "but the Qunari are renowned warriors. If we could release him, perhaps he might help us."

"I was put here for killing a family of eight, including the children. Death will be my atonement. I suggest you leave me to my fate." Sten seemed unphased by this.

"There are other ways to atone for your crimes," Zalandri suggested. "Come with me and help us defend the land against the Blight."

The Qunari's stoic expression changed very slightly, almost invisibly. "The Blight? Are you a Grey Warden, then?"

"Yes, I am." Zalandri replied.

"Surprising." Zalandri smirked at the Qunari's response. "My people have heard many legends of the Wardens' strength and skill… though I suppose not all are true." he continued.

She moved past his strange comment. "Would the revered mother let you free?" she asked.

"Perhaps if you told her the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

"I will leave you for now." He nodded and they left him, heading for the Chantry.

Zalandri gave a few silvers as a donation to the poor in the Chantry, earning a grateful smile from the revered mother. She took the chance to talk to her, about Sten the Qunari. The mother was not pleased to find the troublesome Grey Wardens in her Chantry, but nonetheless was convince to let Sten go.

Sten was genuinely surprised when Zalandri returned to his cage with the keys.

"I confess, i did not think the priestess would part with it," he watched Zalandri open the door.

"She agreed to let you into my custody," Zalandri replied, and stepped back to allow him to come out.

"So be it." He lowered his head and stepped out of the cage. "I will follow you against the Blight."

"Thank you, Sten. Glad to have you with us." Zalandri smiled at him, but his face did not change.

"May we proceed?" he asked. "I am eager to be elsewhere."

Leliana came running, now dressed not in her Chantry robes but in light leather armor, a bow and quiver strapped to her back, with her sword at her side. She did not seem to be surprised by Sten, and greeted him cheerfully. With everyone ready, they left Lothering. As they drew near the highway, however, Zalandri and Alistair felt a familiar sickening reaction in their bodies.

"Zal…" he warned. She nodded. Feren screeched a warning ahead, and they all drew their weapons. A group of darkspawn came into view up ahead, seemingly already in a fight with something else. Zalandri quickened her pace and shot ahead of the group, Alistair not far behind her. Her steps became inaudible, and she disappeared into the shadows of the wall, elongated by the now setting sun. Alistair drew a breath, steeling himself and mustering his strength for a charge, and roared, gathering the attention of the darkspawn and rushing through them, effectively knocking some down. Zalandri reappeared behind a large hurlock, and swiftly cut it down, leaping from its back as it fell to hurl herself at a grunt who was preparing to attack Alistair. Arrows rain down on the gemlocks, piercing their armor as Leliana released one after another. The Alpha came charging at Zalandri, distracted by another hurlock, and sent her flying. She rolled several times before she could plant her foot down and stop. Alistair gave a yell of fury and charged the Alpha, staggering him, and Morrigan froze him in place. Arrows flew into it's chest, and Alistair gave the final, fatal blow. He ran to Zalandri, picking her up and placing her on the ground again with ease, looking anxious.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Just winded slightly." The Alpha had knocked the wind clean out of her, and she coughed to regain her breath. Alistair looked relieved, but still held her close. She tapped his shoulder, asking for him to let her go, and they walked to the others. Sten had held back, as he did not have a weapon, and had covered two dwarves during the fight.

"Are you what they were fighting when we got here?" Zalandri asked. The older dwarf with the beard was looking extremely relieved, sweat glistening on his brow.

"Ah, yes, serah! Yes we were. I'm very grateful that you got here when you did, yes indeed! Thank you very, very much for helping us!" He gestured toward the younger dwarf. "I am Bodhan Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This here's m'boy, Sandal. Say hello, Sandal."

"Hello." Sandal said with a broad smile.

Zalandri bowed at them. "I am Zalandri, ser Feddic."

"Mind if I ask what brings you this way? The road's mighty dangerous these days, and perhaps we can go together the same way?" he asked.

She smiled. "It's a bit… complicated," she said hesitantly. "But you are welcome to come along."

"Complicated?" repeated Bodhan, laughing. "Somehow, I think that doesn't say the half of it! Thank you for the offer, but I think the excitement on your path is more than necessary for me and my boy here. I bid you farewell, and good tidings."

Before the group headed on, Zalandri looked around in the crates. Alistair collected what coin and valuables he could find on the darkspawn. Zalandri found a gold statuette, which she pocketed. Seems like something Alistair may like, she thought.

The group headed north past the edges of Lothering, then set up camp in the gathering darkness. Their journey past Lothering until they set up camp was a grim one; they passed by a smaller village with no inhabitants, only corpses- the remains of the group of darkspawn they had just defeated on the highway. Leliana said a prayer for the deceased as they passed, but Zalandri could not shake the image of a small child, seemingly asleep but for the large wound in her side, laying in her mother's arms.


	7. First Camp

Zalandri stared into the fire, unable to shake the image of the small child she had seen dead on their way out of Lothering. Leliana was out on watch at the edge of camp, feeding snacks to Feren. Morrigan was presumably in her tent sleeping, as was Sten, if he slept. Zalandri could not imagine him sleeping.

She heard the trudging steps of Alistair, and looked up as he sat down beside her. He had taken off his armor, but wore a thicker cloak to shield him from the cool night air. He stretched, rubbing his hands in front of the fire, and sighed. After a few moments silence, he glanced at Zalandri. She was still staring into the fire, her eyes, usually so bright, seemed dull and weary. He could guess easily what she was thinking about.

"The child with its mother in Lothering?" he asked softly. She nodded glumly. She rested her head on her knees, arms clasped tightly around them. She shivered slightly from the cold ground. He waited for her to speak, but when she didn't, he gave a soft "hm" as if making up his mind. He shifted closer to her, and reached his arm out, wrapping the cloak around both of them. She jumped at his movement, but then settled down again when she realized what he was doing. She leaned into his warm body and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her close, and they didn't say a word, finding comfort in each other's presence. They had come a long way in their friendship, and rapidly, through the sheer desperation of the time they lived in and the roles they played.

"Do you want to talk about Duncan?" she asked suddenly. "He was like a father to you… It must be hard…" she trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"I… I should have handled it better," Alistair said, after a moment. "Duncan warned me from the beginning that this could happen. Any of us could die in battle, and… I shouldn't have lost it, especially with everything riding on us… I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Alistair," Zalandri said firmly, "You don't have to apologize for reacting when you lose someone."

He hugged her tightly, wrapping both arms around her now. He moved so that he could sit behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he looked at the dancing flames.

"I'd like to have a proper funeral for him, when this is over," he said, "If we're still alive… I know this sounds stupid, but part of me wishes I was with him, in the battle… I feel like.. I abandoned him."

Zalandri didn't say anything, allowing him to continue, but laced her fingers with his.

"Of course…" he said, almost to himself now, "I'd be dead then, wouldn't I? It's not like that would make him any happier." He fell silent, in thought.

"I think... he came from Highever. Or so he said. Maybe I'll go up there sometime, see about putting something up in his honor. I don't know…" He glanced at Zalandri, turning his head slightly on her shoulder. "Have you.. had someone close to you die? Not that I mean to pry… it's just…" he grew quiet, seeing her nod slowly.

"My parents," she said quietly. "They were killed in a fire, set by someone from a rivalling House. Narukk is in some degree of political chaos now… The old Queen has died of old age, and left no one as heir to the throne. All the noble families are involved, trying to get into the royal seat. My family is one famed for our assassins and guards. The nobles hire us- our services go to the highest bidder- in order to cut down their opposition."

"Were you trained as an assassin? Is that how you learned to fight?" Alistair asked. Flemeth's words made sense to him now- " _You would know…"_

Zalandri nodded. "I am the youngest of my three siblings. My sister is the eldest, and is the best assassin our family has seen for generations. My brother was trained as a guard, and what he lacks in agility he makes up for in strength. They were assigned to a noble family to protect the matriarch and kill the opposition's. The fire…" she subconsciously clenched her hands, squeezing Alistair's. "...was meant for me. It was a distraction meant to draw my siblings away from their jobs to rescue me. I was recovering from an illness that had swept our lands, and was too weak to get out of the crumbling building. My parents instructed my siblings to continue their jobs, and they came for me instead. My mother was shot down by arrows from the assassin who had started the fire, and my father was trapped in the fire after throwing me out to safety."

They sat in silence for a minute, before Alistair hesitantly asked, "Did the assassin get away?"

Zalandri shrugged. "I assume he is still alive, carrying out the duties his new patrons have hired him to do. I do not blame him for doing his job. We have all killed someone innocent in someone else's eyes as hired hands."

Alistair could see the sense in her logic. "The family who hired him, however…" she continued in a low voice, "was taken care of. My siblings and I launched an attack on the family, and we were successful. I left Narukk after it was done. My sister handles the family now, and she does not need me there. As I said before," she gave a small smile, "I prefer the company of animals and plants, and good people." She nudged him gently, and he smiled. She sighed and leaned back against his chest.

"Maybe I'll go to Highever with you, whenever you go." she said. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

Alistair was starting to doze, his face falling into her hair, when she spoke, her voice jerking him awake.

"So much has happened that I never would have foreseen, and in such short a time," she mumbled.

Alistair couldn't agree more. Though, after all that had happened… he was happy for some of it.

"All this time we've spent together," he said, and he could feel his heart beating slightly faster now, "you know; the tragedy, the death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us… will you miss it once it's over?"

Zalandri laughed dryly. "Oh, yes, it makes me tear up just thinking about it."

"Ha! Yes… There'll be no more running for our lives, fighting darkspawn…" he groaned, looking around the camp, "no more camping out in the middle of nowhere…" He suddenly found himself choking slightly, his heart pounding in his throat. "I… I know it might sound strange, considering we haven't known each other for very long… but I… I've come to care for you, Zal… a great deal." He took a deep breath and continued.

"Maybe it's because we've gone through so much together. I don't know. Maybe I'm imagining it," he gave a dry laugh, "Maybe.. I'm fooling myself," he muttered.

"Alistair…" Zalandri shifted in her place to look at him directly. He looked pale in the firelight, he was so nervous.

"Am I? Fooling myself?" he implored. "Or… do you think you could ever feel the same way about me?" His hand came up to stroke her cheek gently, and she felt her heart jump at his touch.

But she had spent so much time rejecting other men in her life, she found she did not know what to say. She truly did care for the young Warden, but…

"I- I don't know…" she found herself saying. Part of her was relieved at her vague answer, but the other was kicking herself for saying it. "I… it's too soon to say…"

He was so close now, their noses were almost touching. His hand still on her cheek, she gently pressed into it.

"Well," he said, just above a whisper, "is it too soon to do this?" He pulled her into him, one hand moving through her hair and the other wrapping around her waist, hugging her against his body as he met her lips with his. She let out a tiny moan of surprise, but her eyes fell shut and she automatically returned his kiss. Her hands felt his chest and his neck as he pulled her close, and she forgot everything around her.

Alistair felt as though his heart were about to burst from his chest. Zalandri's lips moved smoothly with his, and he forgot about everything - the Blight, the death of Duncan- everything but her.

They parted gently, foreheads leaning into each other, slightly breathless from their pounding hearts.

"Well?" Alistair breathed, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She grinned and laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I'm.. not sure," she said again, but she had already made up her mind and her eyes flashed playfully. "I think… I need more testing to be sure."

Alistair laughed and grinned, from ear to ear. "Well, I'm sure I can arrange that…" he said, and sighed, suddenly relieved, pulling her back into him in a tight hug. She tucked her face into the nape of his neck, slightly dizzy as her heart returned to a normal pace, breathing in his scent. He bent his head and kissed her hair, her ears, and she chuckled, feeling her heart flutter.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, and Zalandri slowly fell asleep, comforted by the steady sound of Alistair's heartbeat and the warmth of the cloak around them.

She woke with a start to someone shaking her, and she automatically grabbed for the knife next to her and slashed out, causing Alistair to leap back, lose his balance, and fall to the ground. Zalandri realized what she had done and dropped the knife immediately, clambering to get to him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she moaned. He had a shallow cut on his forearm from blocking her attack, and let her tend to it quickly.

"No, no, it was my fault, I should have woken you up a bit more gently," he said, laughing apologetically. "I forgot about all that fiery assassin in you," he teased. She scoffed and sat back down, looking around her tent, confused.

"When did I come to my tent?" she wondered aloud.

"Ah, well, you didn't," replied Alistair. "You fell asleep by the fire, so I carried you here. I felt.. strange about taking off your vest, so I kind of left you there… Sorry."

Zalandri was still dressed in her day clothing, down to her boots. The only things he had taken off of her were her pouches and weapons.

She suddenly noticed her hair clinging uncomfortably to her face. She wiped the strands away, feeling cold sweat on her brow. Alistair came closer to hand her a rag, which she accepted gratefully.

"You were having a nightmare, do you remember?"

She shook her head. "Ah, well," he said. "Sometimes you don't. You just wake up feeling clammy and shaky. Welcome to the Grey Wardens," he grimaced.

She stripped off her leather vest, allowing herself to breathe easier. Alistair sat next to her and rubbed her back. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her, moving closer to her. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, feeling her body calming down after the nightmare, her breath coming easier to her now. Alistair kissed her temple.

"My guess is you have a few hours left until dawn. Try to get some more sleep."

She nodded, feeling groggy still. "Stay," she mumbled.

"What?" Alistair pretended not to hear.

"Stay here with me," she said louder, then added, "...please. I'll sleep better if I know you're here…"

He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"Only if you want to," she said, sitting up to look at him.

He laughed, unable to resist kissing her cheek. "So polite," he teased, "even when you're groggy with sleep.

She gently pushed him down with a huff, bring her cloak over them. She laid down next to him and he wrapped his arms around her, listening to her breathe until she fell asleep in his arms.


End file.
